Training in Two
by Incongruous
Summary: It began accidentally, well as accidentally as these things can. They were each destined to be more than they were and it was only with each other that they could become that person. Fate put them together, their needs held them together.
1. Trials

It began accidentally, well as accidentally as these things can. They were always the last to leave the training centre at night. Some days, if Reggie was on duty, the peacekeeper would let them stay just a little while longer.

She didn't want to leave because without her knives she felt weak. She was small, but strong for her size but that meant little when it came to fighting people twice her size. The plunk of knives in targets became her favourite sound from the first day she had been allowed to tour as a potential career.

As a class all the ten year olds were taken to the centre in preparation for the next year when the newest careers would be selected. Even back then she was incredibly tiny and no one really expected her to be called back for a trial in the next year's batch.

Her parents had been disappointed at her size, knowing that she would never make it. But they tried hard to mask their disappointment. Still, she knew it, the disappointed sighs when the notch on the doorframe didn't change or the small comments like 'his parents must be proud' as they walked past a career in the street. She didn't want to be a disappointment. She wanted them to be proud of their only child.

When she saw the tall, blonde girl throwing the knives at the dummies she was inspired. Not by the girl, but by the knives. They were small but they were deadly and cunning, just like her. The class was ushered onto the next station but she slipped away. She wanted to watch the knives. Sure, she had seen them in the games, clumsy throws or swift slices but she had never seen them look so deadly. Each dummy held a knife or two. They stood proudly in the target as if to say that that they were the powerful ones, not the person behind it.

As the blonde turned to leave she hid behind a crate, waiting until she was all alone to come out from her hiding place. She knew that she should have gone to find her class but the silver knives were calling to her. She was only going to look, she had told herself but when her pale hand reached out to feel the smooth handle she couldn't resist plucking it from the dummy's torso.

Turning it over in her hands made her feel strong, it made her feel powerful. She admired the power of the blade. She carefully ran a finger over the sharp edge and around the gleaming point of the knife.

She unconsciously took a few small steps back and drew her arm, imitating the girl she had seen before. Locking her green eyes on the target sewn onto the fabric of the dummy she released the knife clumsily. It sailed through the air and landed in the soft body, to the far left of the target.

She heard a scoff from behind her and she spun around, an apology already forming on her tongue. It died when she realised that it was just another kid.

'You aren't supposed to be here,' he said as he raked his eyes down her small body. 'And from the looks of you, and your aim, you never will be. So run along shrimp before you get in trouble.'

She knew exactly who he was. Cato Scott, both his parents were victors and everyone knew that he would be one too. Even at fourteen he was large for his age, and according to all reports, all the legacy kids were gossiped about in Two, he had done fantastically in his first three years at the centre. Despite knowing that he could crush her without breaking a sweat she could not step back after he took a dig at her size. 'Yeah well, you won't last two minutes when you go to the games. You're all brawn and no brains.'

'And you wouldn't last two seconds,' he sneered at her. 'You're short, weak and have no aim.'

'At least I have brains.'

'Doesn't seem like it, shrimp.'

She didn't bother to respond, instead she just spun around to face the dummy once again, trying not to grimace when her long black ponytail whipped her face. She extracted the knife and walked backwards, determined to prove him wrong.

'You need to relax more.' He said. 'If you're too stiff you won't move well and then the throw will go astray.'

'Don't tell me what to do,' she spat back at him. Despite her anger she tried to force her body to relax like he had said.

She took a deep breath and tried to visualise the ark of the knife in her head. She was smart and intuitive, something that made up for her stature. So on her second try she managed to hit the target, it wasn't the bullseye, but it was close.

She turned back to Cato who had leant against a bench behind her, a cocky smirk on her lips. 'Now that wasn't too bad for my second try, was it?'

'Sure, but you don't get a second try in the games.' He stood up straight again, strutting towards her. 'You get one shot, if you don't make it you lose. And the consequences of losing, are death. Do you think you can handle it, shrimp?'

'I can handle anything.' She said nervously as a shiver travelled up her spine. He was intimidating for sure. Looming over her she could tell that his strength was more than enough to beat her and that was all that stopped her from getting upset that he had called her shrimp yet again.

He smirked when she began walking backwards, but he kept walking towards her. He was enjoying the fear in her eyes, but he wanted to find out if there was something else hidden in there. He wanted to see if she had the sign of a true victor, he was searching for fight.

As her back collided with a dummy she had to bite her tongue so that she didn't whimper. She was from District Two. She did not show fear. The cold metal of the knife touched her arm and as without a seconds thought she reached up and pulled it out, pointing it at the large boy menacingly. Her voice was low and as strong as she could make it, 'I don't know what you are doing but if you try to hurt me I will kill you.'

He chuckled and backed away with a smirk. She was a fighter. She could make it in this place if she was willing to try her hardest. He couldn't give her the satisfaction of winning the fight though, which would go against everything he was. 'No you wouldn't. You are just a little girl, you wouldn't be able to hurt me if you tried.'

'I wouldn't be sure about that.' She said, taking a step towards him this time, the knife still raised to attack.

He didn't move, he wasn't as sure as he pretended to be. Now that he had incited the spark of strength it was quickly turning into an uncontrollable blaze. 'You better put that knife down. I'm not going to hurt you, it would be too easy. I need a challenge.'

She rolled her eyes and lowered her arm, but the knife was still being held in a death grip. The fear he had formed in her heart was gone, it fled as soon as her hand closed around the handle and she didn't want it to return.

'Clove,' Mr Doublure, her teacher, barked from the observation room. 'You better get back here right now. You were told to stay with the group. Hurry up.'

Mr Doublure moved into the next room, with another instruction to catch up before she was stuck cleaning the whole school for the next month. She moved around him quickly, carefully putting the knife into her pocket, the blade resting in the palm of her hand.

'You shouldn't take that.' He said in a hushed voice.

She turned to face him, 'I'll take my chances.'

He smiled, he liked her. She was stronger than she looked and he knew that in a few years she would be as deadly as him. A girl of her size was going to have to prove every day just how strong she was to stay in this place, but from what he had seen, she would do just that.

* * *

The next time they met she was on her trial. He never told her but he had been the one to tell his instructors about her, he told them that he knew her from town and that she was a fighter. Without his help she never would have made it there.

In the line-up of potentials she looked even smaller. The rest were broad and tall, each carrying the arrogance that was seen in every career.

This day was the best part of the year for the careers, the current students all got a chance to watch the potentials try out. They would sit and laugh at the ones that cracked under pressure or admire the kids that made it to the next round with ease.

His fellow students were sceptical as they watched the eleven year olds lined up on one wall. Only twenty of them would be selected from the sixty or so that were there. It was a tough competition but one that would prove to be very fruitful if they succeeded.

A few were laughing at the small girl who lounged against the wall. Someone wondered aloud how the hell she made it to the trials and a few obscene suggestions were thrown around. He kept quiet, he knew that she would do well.

They locked eyes and she reached into her pocket, lifting an eyebrow so slightly that no one but Cato would notice. She pulled her hand back and he could see a sliver of silver. He smirked and looked away, it wouldn't do him any good to be associated with a potential.

They watched the kids move through the course. They had five minutes to prove themselves using all the tools in the room. There were stations to show their brute strength, their speed, aim, anything that could possibly save their lives in the games. After watching four years' worth of tryouts he could tell which ones would pass onto the next round.

When she walked in there were a few scoffs and quite a few laughs in the observation room. He watched her closely, knowing that she could do this. She would be ready, she had insinuated as much, at least to him, by showing that knife. She had been practicing but he knew that she had to be perfect for the instructors to even consider her for the next round.

He had no idea why he was so worried for her. It wasn't like he knew her. After their first meeting they hadn't spoken again, they had walked past each other in the street but never bothered to make conversation. For some reason though he wanted her to be there, he wanted to see her light up again and be the fighter that he saw on her visit.

As she threw knife after knife, each one landing exactly in the centre of each target, he had no idea why he was worried. She had been practicing, and it showed. There were hums of astonishment around him and the instructor he had spoken about her gave him a nod. She was good.

The next round was his favourite. The potentials were faced with a current student and they had to fight. If the potential won, they made it through. If the potential lost, they were evaluated to determine if they could be groomed into a career to fill any remaining spots.

It was his first year to be in the fight, they usually liked to challenge the potentials with fifth years. Half because they could then truly show their worth and partially because they wanted to see how they stood up to fear. He was only in his fourth year but they had given him the opportunity because he was more menacing than half of the fifth years put together.

Inside the slightly padded white room was a collection of weapons, each fighter would pick one and then the rest would be taken away. He selected the sword and waited for his opponent to arrive.

When she walked through the door, her ponytail replaced with a tight bun, he froze. He didn't want to fight her. It wasn't that he was scared, he just didn't want to hurt her. She was just so small, her footsteps towards the weapons table barely made a sound. She seemed too innocent to be there.

The rules were simple, they could harm but not kill. Nothing potentially deadly was allowed. It baffled him as to why they would give them weapons if not to kill each other, because to him, that was all weapons were built for.

They began eyeing each other off, mirroring each other's smirks. 'You're going down shrimp.'

'You wish.'

That was the last thing they said before they both morphed into their fighting mode, their movements were not based on calculations but instincts, no words were needed, all they needed was blood and pain.

Sticking to opposite sides of the room was an advantage to her, he couldn't throw his sword as quickly as she could a knife and his arms weren't that long. As they moved in circles around each other she stroked the top of the knife she held.

He watched her closely, waiting for movement in her arm. He sensed her movement before she made it, giving him time to duck the first knife that lodged itself in the wall just above his shoulder. He knew that it was his time to act, he only had a second before the next knife was in her hand. He lunged forward, trying to scrape her throwing arm with the edge of his sword.

The crimson blood flowed slowly from her hand. It wasn't the first time that he had drawn blood from an opponent but it was the first time that he had drawn blood and felt bad about it.

The guilt was replaced with anger when he felt a sharp slice on his arm. Blood seeped out from the tear in his blue shirt, the stain growing along with his determination to win.

From that point on she became nothing more than an opponent, he did not notice her size. In that room they were equals. He had his brute strength and she had her own strength. With her knives she was as deadly as he was. They moved in a pattern, she would throw and he would lunge, if it was less brutal one may even have called it a dance.

With each slice and nick their grins grew. They liked the look of blood on each other, and on themselves. It marked them as worthy opponents.

Finally his sword struck hard enough to give him an extra second as she tried to pull herself from the ground. She wasn't quick enough in her attempts at getting up and he put one foot on either side of her, he bent down and moved his arms to poise the sword above her chest. He was halfway there when he saw her hand lift to his shoulder and he felt the sharp pain of her blade tearing through his skin.

In the second that it took for him to process the newest injury she had grasped the second knife and was holding it at his abdomen as he moved to hold the sword directly above her heart.

The buzzer did not sound to indicate that the battle had a victor. They were going to have to continue until only one had the upper hand.

He used one arm to hold her to the ground. Now that it was hand to hand combat he had the advantage. Her spare hand moved to his shoulder and yanked the knife from his flesh, causing another wave of pain. She may have been pinned to the ground but she managed to surprise him and in the smallest moment of weakness she had pushed him backwards.

He fell onto her legs with a loud crunch. Gathering his thoughts he dropped his sword by his side and leant forward to grab her arms, his hands making it the whole way around her tiny wrists. He knew that the fight was his now. He leant over her and took her two arms under one of his and picked up his sword, holding it against her throat.

The buzzer sounded but not in time to stop the small whimper that escaped her lips. He smirked. She may have been a fighter but she was not yet fearless. That would change.

* * *

**I apologise for any mistakes and I hope you liked it. I will be continuing with a few more pieces from their years in the Centre so I hope you'll stick around to read it.**


	2. First Year

In the next few months she began her induction. They were briefed on the rules of the centre. For the first two years they would look at a broad range of things. In the fourth year they would be analysed once again and separated into two categories, military and five select students would continue on the path of becoming a career. It would be in the fourth year that they had a chance to enter the arena.

In District Two there was a system. There were thousands of names in the reaping ball but only twenty kids had a chance to go. Every year there was a female and a male picked from the final year to be volunteers. The only way that one of the volunteers wouldn't go was if another student from the fourth year and above was drawn from the reaping ball. That way only the strongest ever went.

She kept to herself among the new students. She didn't care for friends and they didn't try to get to know her either. Most of them were unhappy that she was there, mainly because they hadn't seen her with a knife yet. There were a few though that just did not like her at all. Even in school she had been on her own and most of her peers bullied her when she was younger. About the time that they went to the training centre for their tour though she began to change, she no longer put up with the insults, she would throw them right back and most of her fights were with the people that had been selected along with her. They hated her sharp words, soon enough she knew that they would hate her sharp knives too.

Occasionally she saw Cato walking around, but their paths didn't cross much because each year had their own floor for training and they were given different periods to use the cafeteria. Every day she thought about that fight, what she could have done to win. It became her obsession, trying to find ways to do better.

Her hand to hand combat scores increased dramatically over her first few months. Although she still rarely won if the fight became too physical she was getting better. People were beginning to see that she wasn't just a lucky little girl whose parents must have paid to get her a place, as was common in District Two.

Her drive to further her skills was what made the others realise that she was not one to mess around with. She was one of the fastest and had the best reaction times. The instructors began to use her for their demonstrations, which was always a good sign. She was one of the most promising of her year but she still felt like she had to do better. She had to be better to beat him.

* * *

It was a few months after starting when the trainers called her into a meeting with her parents. For hours they preached to her that her size was such a downfall that she was going to have to prove herself in every way possible. A career had to be strong and domineering, a career should inspire fear with a single glance.

They suggested different ways in which this could be achieved despite her condition. Personally Clove despised them all. She didn't want to be given a title that she hadn't earned. They attempted to talk her out of it but she was defiant. She refused to use any of their ploys. She knew that one day she would be as menacing as they wished but it was going to be on her terms.

It wasn't that she was weak. She was just loved secrets and what bigger secret was there than what lurked under her allure of innocence?

* * *

It was the day before the reaping that they talked to each other once again.

He was looking for a spare sword room and the first years had been instructed to give up any station that the older people wanted, even if it was their floor.

The swords were next to the knives and for a moment he just stood there watching her. She was graceful, but so lethal. The concentration on her face was hard to miss, and the self-satisfied smirk as the silver blade pierced the dummy right on target showed that she was growing into the perfect tribute.

Enobaria approached and for a moment they talked about her form. She said that Clove was promising but without the usual stature she wouldn't get many sponsors in The Games. They weren't supposed to be talking about another student but she had a soft spot for the boy after his Mum died.

Their conversation was interrupted when the door to the knives room creaked open.

'Sorry for holding you up, I didn't realise that you were waiting.'

'I wasn't.' He stuffed his hands in his pockets. 'Enobaria and I were just talking.'

'Yes,' she interrupted. 'I was telling Cato that he needed to be more versatile, brute force isn't the only way to win The Games. Sometimes you need to be comfortable with a range of styles. After all strange things can happen in the arena.'

Clove stood straight and nodded, aware that this woman would be evaluating her every move.

'I better be off. Brutus is demanding that I help with something but he won't tell me what it is until I get there.' She walked towards the door and muttered, 'stubborn old bastard.'

'Brutus is your Dad isn't he?' Clove cursed her mouth, she wasn't supposed to ask questions like that.

Cato nodded with a slightly mystified look on his face, 'Enobaria is just kidding, mostly anyway. They pretend to hate each other but she is pretty much family.'

'Is that what it's like in Victor Village?' This time she almost slapped her forehead at her stupidity.

He chuckled, 'no. Enobaria and my Mum were best friends before each of their Games and afterwards they were just as close.'

'Oh.'

'I better get training, it's a pretty big day tomorrow.'

Clove gave a knowing smile and nodded. She watched as he walked into the knives station and held them uncomfortably, they were too delicate for him. Cato needed strength, he needed obvious weapons. A knife wasn't his style and as he threw it she could see the unease in his stance.

'You need to relax.' She said, echoing his words from the first time they had met in this same room.

'I don't need any advice from you Shrimp.'

'Again with that name…' she sighed. 'When are you going to learn that my size doesn't matter?'

He shrugged, leaning against the silver bench that held her favourite weapons. 'When you prove it.'

'Hand me a knife then and I'll prove it on you.' She raised an eyebrow. Intimidation was an art form, and not one that she had mastered.

'Big words for a little girl.' He on the other hand, well he was a master at it. He stalked towards her, towering over her once again. 'You couldn't beat me if I was half dead.'

'I wouldn't be so sure of that.' She said through gritted teeth. One hand was clenched by her side and the other was reaching ever so slowly towards the cool metal that was sitting against her skin under her shirt.

There it was, that spark of life in her eyes as he stood over her. He smirked, loving the mix of fear and adrenaline that he could sense. 'Lucky for you, the chances of another fight are small. Rather like you.'

She could feel it there, tingling against her fingers but she wouldn't pull it out unless she had to. Injuring another student when you were unprovoked could earn her punishment and at this time of year it would no doubt be pretty terrible.

He took a step back, still smirking. 'You better go, wouldn't want you to be late to lunch.'

She glared, his patronising tone made her want to drain his body of blood, drip by drip. Nonetheless she walked away, withdrawing her hand from the blade tucked away and headed off. That boy annoyed her to no end and she would be damned if he thought she was weak. She vowed to prove him wrong, even if it was the last thing that she ever did.


	3. Second Year

In her second year they were given the afternoon to do their own training. They had to be there until five and be training most of the time but they had their pick of exercises. She tried to change it up occasionally, mainly it was just when people had beaten her to the knives and blocked her path before she could grab one and force them to leave.

It was late one night when he ran into her again in the dark hallways of the training centre. After hours only the second floor was open for training and only a few people stayed. He was always there until the guard passed at seven o'clock and sent him home. His father praised his enthusiasm.

He spotted her at the combat station, attempting to discover the secret of a particular chokehold on a dummy.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, laughing silently at her struggle. She looked so tiny, compared to the dummy, that it was ridiculous to imagine her ever winning a fight against an actual human being. He knew that she could do it, she was stronger than would be expected and she held a sadistic streak that peeked out when she was under pressure. That sadism was what made her so deadly but she only found it when she was truly fearful. If she wanted to become a warrior she needed to learn how to find it whenever she felt like it, in fact she needed to be it rather than just have it. Clove would one day be just a sadistic girl, that's what the training centre was for, it's the only way she could become a victor.

He entered the room but she didn't look up. 'Wouldn't that work better with a living opponent?'

To her credit she didn't even jump, maybe she had sensed him watching her. She let the dummy fall to the floor and kicked it away. Looking up at him with one eyebrow raised and her hands sitting on her hips she said, 'are you volunteering?'

'Wouldn't want to hurt you,' he said casually.

She rolled her eyes. 'You would be the one in pain after I'm finished with you.'

Something in the way she said it made him fire up slightly. He was certain that she wouldn't be able to beat him and Cato never backed down from a fight. What did he have to lose? 'Alright, you're on.'

* * *

Thus began a tradition. They would train together at least once a week. He would teach her combat techniques and she would sharpen his long distance fighting. They learnt quickly, and mainly through pain.

They learnt from their mistakes. He had scars covering his body from the sharp blades of her favourite knives and her bones ached when it was cold from his sharp blows. They each liked the pain, the reminders that they were stronger for every ache, every sting, and every bruise.

At first they would be hesitant to begin. One of them would wait until the other was struggling with something and offer to help. But once they began sparring they became fluid because both of them were built to fight.

He was obviously a physical fighter. He was impulsive and that was an advantage occasionally because he needed the element of surprise to get her off edge. He could duck and dodge her knives for hours but when she hesitated for just a second too long he had to take the lead. In an instant she would be pinned underneath him, arms over her head, the knife falling to the ground as she fell. It was his way of being. He was upfront and instinctual.

She was a mental fighter. She would plan the moves in her head, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. She learnt his methods and used them against him, after a while she began to give him a second to make his move but he would regret it as soon as the blood flowed from yet another wound. She was manipulative and she loved every second of it.

They knew each other's every move. She knew that when his tongue peaked out from behind his lips that he was going to hold position for a while. He knew that her hand curling around the blade in a particular way meant she was going in for the last shot of the day.

They didn't say anything but they each considered the other to be a friend, a friend that dreamt of was to kill the other but a friend nonetheless. Allies would be a better word but it wasn't like they had something to fight together against. It was the way of their district, you don't have friends, you just have allies.

* * *

When she finally beat him for the first time, she pressed the blade into his throat just enough to break the skin. She watched, almost gleefully, as the crimson blood flowed from the wound. It most certainly wasn't the first time that she had drawn his blood but it was the first time she did it out of pure want. She had no need to make that final cut, she had already won the fight, but she wanted that little bit more.

He smirked as he watched her hovering above him. The slight pain in his neck was nothing compared to his wounded pride. He didn't mind it all that much though. She would never tell anyone that he'd lost because these trainings were theirs alone. These trainings were theirs to learn from each other and he had succeeded in teaching her. She now held that spark in her eye, the one that promised pain and misery, well beyond the moment that she had him pinned to the ground with a knife at his throat. She was his fighter now.

* * *

**I would love to know what you think about this, it's very different from what I usually write so any feedback would be fantastic.** **Thank you to those who have reviewed the last two chapters, and favourites and alerts too. **


	4. Third Year

**Anything that you recognise does not belong to me.**

* * *

Third year was when she fell in love with slicing, long smooth lines. The sharpest blades could glide effortlessly through whatever she wished. She loved the way they could turn something so tough into nothing more than water.

She fell in love with the scars they made. Cato stripped himself of his shirt one session, it was already soiled with his blood, and most likely hers. Instantly her eyes were drawn to the light lines covering his chest. With a quivering hand she felt them, running a finger over them in no particular order.

'What are you doing?' He asked but didn't move away. He liked the feeling of her being so close, he always did. She was warmer than he would have expected, he always thought that she would have been a cold person.

'Admiring my handiwork,' she murmured. He chuckled and she dug her short nails into his chest lightly. 'Don't you dare laugh. You cannot insult an artist's work just because you don't understand it.'

'I understand it alright.' He grasped her hand, stilling its gradual path up his chest and along his shoulder. 'You want to last, you want something that can outlive you because here in Two we don't get to be remembered as more than a scary face.'

Clove scoffed, 'if I wanted something to outlast me I wouldn't have picked you as my canvas.'

'Fine, you just wanted an excuse to run your hands over my muscular chest.' He had to get her to stop. He could feel the Goosebumps rising on his skin, he couldn't let her see what the touch was doing to him.

She blushed, it wasn't her intention but as he mentioned it she realised that she was doing more than admiring her cuts. She was tracing the outlines of his muscles, feeling the strength they held. It wasn't her intention but even she couldn't quell the rush of blood to her cheeks. 'You wish.'

'Shrimp, you're blushing.' He chuckled again. 'Better watch out, someone might think you're human in a minute.'

Before the last word could pass his lips she had her knife poised directly above his kidney. A quick thrust and a twist would be all it took to send him into shock and to the grave. She wouldn't go that far though. She needed a training partner that was stupid enough to keep coming back. That didn't stop her from pressing until the blade split the skin, another long gash to add to her picture.

He didn't say anything, if she had been looking up at him she may have seen a grimace but she was too focused on the crimson blood spilling onto his skin. He bore it in silence. He would get her back. That would be if he cared to. He didn't mind being her canvas. It was what he was there for right? On Earth to be a target for children, a target for slaughter. He may as well have done when at least one person got enjoyment out of it.

'You know I really think you need to learn how to use something other than the knives.' He grasped her hand and pried the silver blade from her fingers. 'There aren't always knives in the Games.'

'When the Gamemakers see what I can do with them there will be.'

'What if there aren't?' He pushed her backwards with one hand. It wasn't to get her out of close proximity he told himself. He was fine with her pressed up against him. 'I can push you down with one hand. In hand to hand combat you will be as likely to win as someone from Twelve.'

'I don't let the fight get to hand to hand combat.'

'You don't always have that option.'

'Give me back my knife.' She doesn't like it in his hand while she stands there defenceless. She feels naked. It makes her weak, it makes her feel like a small child.

'How about no,' he smirks.

She glowers slightly. They both know that she has no chance of winning without a weapon, not against someone of his size. She can't back down now, it isn't her way.

She strikes him with a close fist along the cut. Her hand slips along and comes away covered in his blood.

This time he falls back slightly, she gets a millisecond ahead. They move around one another, he brandishes her knife, never letting it fly, and she tries any defence she can think of. Her back hits the wall and then he has her pinned.

He pushes her backwards until there is no gap at all between, her, the wall, and his body. He pulls away slightly to look her in the eye. He lifts the knife to her throat without breaking eye contact.

She is merciless against him now. The cool metal sliding against her skin feels wrong. It should be the other way around.

He smirks and traces a line down her arm with the knife, still not breaking the skin. When he reaches her fingertips he chuckles. 'You know what Clove. I've never given you a scar. I've given you bruises, broken bones, aches and pains but never a scar.'

She can't react. To show weakness is death.

'I think I might just change that. After all, an artist can't paint without getting a little bit on themselves.' He brings the knife back up her arm. 'I just don't know where to put it.'

He taps the back of the blade against her collar bone. 'What about here, for the time that you waited until my back was turned?'

He moved it down to the centre of her chest. 'Or here, just like when you attempted to use a sword for the first time but you were too weak to handle it.'

'But I think this is my favourite.' He says, dragging the knife back up her chest to her throat. 'This was the first time you just did it for enjoyment.'

'Only that one is mine. I can't let you have that one too.'

'I know.' Before she can blink he pulls away and creates a wound mirroring his. 'For the time that I proved I'm better than you. Think of it as a reminder that you without your knives you're at my mercy. You are only as good as the weapon in your hand.'

She lifts the black cotton of her shirt just enough to see watch the blood seep out onto her pale skin. 'Blood looks so much better on me.'

Every time she looks at her bare stomach she vows to prove that she is not what she has in her hands. She vows to prove that she is a weapon.

* * *

Every fight he won after that ended with a blow to her abdomen. He wouldn't let up and she didn't expect him to.

He liked being around her because she knew he was strong and didn't fear him. Intimidation wasn't what gave him an advantage, he had to get her out of her comfort zone. He wasn't naturally menacing, he played it up around the Training Centre so being with her was almost relaxing.

She knew that she was changing. Her fascination with knives extended to blood. Her thirst for causing pain grew. He helped her to see that this was a good thing. Through actions he proved it, because words were so rarely used between them.

They were constantly pushing each other because that was the closest thing that they could do to show that they cared. He wanted her to make it out of the arena and she felt the same about him.

They both had weaknesses and they both had strengths. The only thing that they could do for the other was help them to overcome them. Even then there were limitations. No evidence that they care, no obvious help, a Career could never accept help.

Still they pushed each other further. They progressed beyond their trainers' expectations through these private sessions.

With every minute spent together they grew. They grew into careers. Ready to fight, ready to kill.

But underneath all of that they developed a connection. It wasn't friendship because it couldn't be. It wasn't romance because that word was dirty in the training centre. It was something though, it was a strange thread that pulled them to each other.

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**Thank you for the reviews, favourites and such. I would love to know what you thought of this chapter too, if you would be so kind.  
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	5. Fourth Year

**I do not own anything that you recognise.**

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In her fourth year she was brought to a strange room on the day before the reaping. She knew that they would be spoken to regarding the rules for tomorrow but it was strange that they would do it on the ground floor, she figured that it would be every year level spoken to separately as that was what happened in the previous years that she had been there.

She stood in the front of the room, not wanting to lose sight of the instructors when she was hidden behind the larger Careers.

'The students in this room are the best of the best. Here in District Two we have a proud history of winning these games and we want to continue that tradition.' The instructor shuffled some papers, 'now there are two outstanding students that will be given the honour to represent our district today. As you all know there is only one exception, and that is if any of you are selected, you will become a tribute for the 73rd annual Hunger Games.'

A girl and a boy were brought to the front of the stage. Both were obviously strong and looked exactly like a Career should, striking features and a few scars to show that they were no stranger to pain. One day, that would be her up there, preparing to be taken to her own reaping. She would look out over the faces of the other Careers and it would prove what she has been trying to since her first day at the centre. She was good enough. She was a fighter. She would be a victor.

'It's your first reaping, isn't it?' Cato whispered.

Clove nodded, still admiring the two tributes. They really were the definition of intimidating.

'Don't worry.'

'I wasn't. Why would I? If I get picked I'll be the victor.'

He chuckled slightly, 'keep telling yourself that shrimp.'

Clove smirked, he wasn't going to get to her with the shrimp comment anymore. She had more than proven that she was strong enough. 'You are going to be up there next year.'

'I am,' he said proudly. 'You better not miss me too much when I'm on my victory tour though.'

'Yeah I'll miss you,' Clove scoffed, 'like a hole in the head.'

* * *

This year they shared their first kiss. A kiss born not of romance, but of lust, at least that is what they told themselves.

Cato had her pinned against a wall, her knife was lying discarded on the floor. She was struggling to keep the tips of her toes on the floor while he toyed with her. He was taunting her again, waiting for her to snap.

Instead she stayed silent. He would not get to her today.

He moved closer and closer, staring into her eyes for a hint of fear only to find nothing. He smirked, she was good but he still knew how to unsettle her. He moved in until there was little more than an inch separating them, to her credit she still did not flinch. That was until he kissed her at least.

Her eyes widened in shock, but she was carried away before she could process just what had happened. She relaxed, and so did he. One of her hands found its way to his cheek and one of his to her lower back.

The passion in their kiss was almost uncontrollable, neither was thinking about anything other than each other. It was over too quick, neither wanted to pull away but they still had their pretence of training partners to uphold after all.

Cato stepped back and she stumbled slightly as her feet fell flat on the ground. An awkward silence hung in the air. They stood around for a moment, both looking at the ground.

'Time to go,' the Peacekeeper said from the doorway as he walked past on his rounds.

'Well I'll see you tomorrow,' Clove muttered as she fumbled with her bag.

'Yeah tomorrow,' Cato agreed. He shook his head, still unable to process what had just happened between them. He had kissed other girls before but it had never been like that. He'd never felt like the kiss was igniting something deep inside of him, or felt a fire burning in every place where her small body met his.

Clove took a deep breath as she left the room. She had just had her first kiss and she didn't know what to think. Unlike most girls her age she wasn't thinking about boyfriends and all of that. She wanted to fight and win the Games, and that was it. After that though she had no idea what she was thinking about. If she closed her eyes she could still feel his lips on hers, and his body pressing against her own.

Both tried to push it from their minds. It was an accident. It was hormones. It was Cato's fault. It was Clove's fault. Whatever put their minds at rest was what they stuck with.

The kiss went unmentioned after that. They continued training like normal, no longer fighting only each other but also fighting their desire.

* * *

'I heared there was a bit of a mishap in training today.' Cato remarked as he entered the room where Clove was sitting on one of the benches.

'He shouldn't have moved.' She shrugged, 'if he hadn't he wouldn't be dead now.'

'What did the trainers have to say?'

Clove laughed, 'they admired my aim.'

Cato smirked, the smile that was on her face was the first he could recall seeing that was joyful. Smirks or cunning smiles were the closest he ever saw but there was no denying the happiness that accompanied her words.

Accidental kills in training were expected. When you give a bunch of kids weapons and ask them to fight it's inevitable that at some point they are going to kill someone. Usually the trainers didn't punish accidental kills, they took it as a good sign for that killer's future. After all, the first kill was always the hardest.

Cato had made his first kill in his second year. He had still been learning the extent of his own power and. He was surprised she lasted until her fourth year.

'Ready to go then?' Cato asked, a smile still lingering on his lips.

'I can't.' Clove pulled up the leg of her pants revealing a peach coloured bandage. 'The bastard managed to twist my ankle before I beat him. I can't do anything for a few days.'

'I guess I'll just have to train on my own then, wimp.'

Clove rolled her eyes. 'I am not going to permanently injure myself just to prove that I can beat your ass.'

Cato shrugged and jumped up on the bench beside her. 'I guess we'll just have to talk tactics then.'

They began discussing weapons, Clove arguing that smaller blades use less energy while Cato claimed that bigger blades were worth the extra exertion. Somehow, a while after, they got around to the topic of diversions in close combat.

'We both know your trick.' Clove cursed herself. Why did she bring that up?

'About that…' Cato paused, unsure of what he should say. Finally he decided on 'I'm sorry,' which was a lie. He couldn't be less sorry if he tried.

'Don't worry about it.' Clove said, almost convincing him that she meant it. 'After all, you startled me like you aimed to and provided a valuable lesson. Never underestimate your opponent.'

'I promise it won't happen again.' Cato said, knowing it was a worthless promise.

Clove was disappointed, but she did try to hide it. 'Good,' she said without conviction.

They fell into silence, a silence that made them both want to run and hide. After bringing it up neither one of them could stop the moment running through their minds, and even though it had been a month or two they both remembered every single detail.

Afterwards they could not recall what started it but they kissed again. This time they savoured it. He realised how soft her lips were. She loved the feel of his muscles rippling under his thin shirt.

'We shouldn't be doing this.'

Cato pulled away slightly, 'do you want to stop?'

'No,' Clove said confidently, as she pulled his lips back to hers.

This time it was harder to right off as a mistake. This time it was all on them but really they didn't mind. They were not a couple, there was no mistaking that but they were something more than training partners. They were just as competitive, if not more. They just kissed every now and again. At least that's what they told themselves because if the convinced themselves that it was nothing more than kissing they could live with it.

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**A huge thank you goes out to everyone who reviewed, and / or added this story to alerts or favourites. You guys are awesome because you like reading what I love writing. Even though I never really have that much time for writing I still absolutely love writing this and you, the fabulous readers, are a huge part of my love for it. So thank you!**


	6. Fifth and Final Year

**Sorry for the long wait. I had computer problems and couldn't get to the file of what I'd already written, which was most of it because the end was written before I wrote the beginning. **

**I don't own anything that you recognise. **

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Neither of them understood their relationship and neither of them wanted to. It was unique. It was passionate and impulsive like Cato. It was energetic and full of surprises like Clove.

It was a kiss here, a kiss there. A caress when he noticed the tears filling her eyes as she nursed a broken arm, and a retaliating swat from her. They weren't soft. They wouldn't be seen as soft.

He was sweet to her and she hated it.

He got away with it because he was Cato. He was strong, he was well known for his talents. She on the other hand had to fight for respect in the Centre. If it wasn't for her meticulous training and outstanding achievements she would have been laughed out of there years ago for her size alone. She couldn't be seen as weak and love was a weakness.

And she did not love Cato.

* * *

They continued to train together, despite the fact that they were so ingrained in each other that there were few surprises. It was a dance now, choreographed down to the last inch.

Lying on the floor after a fight, which she won of course, Clove was absentmindedly tracing the scar he had given her years ago.

'Do you ever think about what you'll do once you win?' Cato asked, playing with a lock of her hair.

Clove slapped his hand away. 'Not really, it's too far away. I've still got a few years of training to go.'

'I think about it.' Cato rolled onto his back and put his hands up to the ceiling. 'I want to go into space.'

'Why space?' Clove asked, laughing.

'Why not?'

'But there is nothing in space, just rocks and stars.'

'Don't you ever get sick of being in Two though? We are allowed to go from here to there, no hopping over the train tracks and no further than the fence. I just want the freedom to go wherever I like, an infinite amount of room to move.'

'Really I've never thought about it. My whole life is dedicated to making it to the arena. We don't all have a free pass like you.' Clove turned to face him, 'I don't know what I'll do when I make it out but I'm sure I'll still be kicking your ass.'

Before the words had even left her lips she had grabbed the knife he'd thrown away earlier and she held it near his throat. With a smirk he rolled her over and the fight began.

* * *

He loved watching her train. She was lethal for sure but she held grace that few people were capable of achieving while aiming to kill their opponent. His eyes followed the arch of the knife before it lodged dead centre in the dummy. It was a smooth throw, the knife did not waver or dip.

She never misses.

Cato wasn't sure what he felt about her but there were three things he knew for sure. She was his best friend. She ignited a part of him that had been dormant throughout his whole life. She was perfect.

When he was with her there was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her safe and happy. If that meant training her tough so that she could survive the arena, then he did it. If it meant ignoring the feelings that surged through his veins each time they kissed then so be it. He would do anything.

He would do anything because he loved her.

* * *

It was the last day before the reaping. He was going to volunteer. She pretended not to care. They weren't supposed to be there today but both were drawn to the place that they called home.

It was going to be her first time in the running and it was his year to volunteer. Barring a miracle Cato would be going into the arena.

She refused to tell him that he couldn't go. That she needed him to stay in Two. It would make her weak and he would have won whatever this game was that they had playing for years. Whoever begged first would lose.

She kissed him. It seemed to replace the words that she couldn't find. She poured her heart into that kiss, she poured her sadness, and she poured her hope. She tried to say so much in their silence, I love you, don't go, goodbye.

He kissed her back softly. To him this wasn't goodbye. This was a good luck and I'll see you soon. He felt her desperation and pulled her closer. 'I'll be back before you know it.'

'You better be.' She felt tears brimming in her eyes. It wasn't right. She couldn't cry. To go to into the arena was an honour. She tried to blink back her tears, 'lucky I trained you so well.'

'Yeah right Shrimp.' He smirked, ' you didn't do anything, I'm just naturally perfect.'

She smiled with her face against his broad chest, 'keep telling yourself that.'

He lifted her chin and kissed her again. He would miss that.

'It's almost time,' she protested, praying that he wouldn't agree. She wanted longer.

'Almost.' He bent down to kiss her again. 'I just want another minute. The hero of the hour should get some privileges after all.'

While they were silent her mind would not stop thinking. What would she be without him? Would she even be here? Clove pulled away from the kiss. 'Thank you.' It was as close to _I love you_ as she would get but that's what she meant.

'For what?'

Clove paused for a moment, she wasn't the type to do all this emotional stuff. 'Thank you for helping me, for believing that someone as small as I am could become a fighter.'

'I didn't do anything. You did it all.' Cato pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. 'If you went to the arena today you'd win in a second.'

'Luckily for you I'm not.'

'You would be my only downfall.'

Clove silenced him with a kiss. She didn't want to think that he had any chance of dying. Cato would make it out alive and when her turn came she would too.

Two fighters of equal quality left the centre that day. Each prepared to face death, each certain that it wouldn't happen to them. Hand in hand they would face their doom.

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**Well that was the last chapter, I hope I didn't disappoint. I could continue but this was about their time before the games, and I never intended to write on past this point. I hope you liked it because I enjoyed writing it.**

**Now that I'm done I am contemplating writing their time in the arena as a continuation but with less time jumps. Only I never intended to and rash decisions can often be the wrong ones so I probably won't. **

**I hope you review because that might make up for the sadness I feel at finishing this. **

**I want to give you all a group hug. But I can't because that would involve reaching over the internet. Just know I want to. If you can't tell I don't want to post this because that means that this is over. **


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